pale blues

I've spent a great number of hours/days/years/lifetimes cultivating my tastes.


In books, in magazines, in old movies, in the kitchen, in the tub, in the bedroom, on the couch, in daisy fields, in shopping malls, in his heart. I search. All this constant searching is scratching and tearing at my soul. Wearing me down.

Sometimes I cant get my eyes to focus.
And in the middle of conversations my brain decides to stop listening.
This isn't because I don't care what you're saying, well that's not true, sometimes it is, but only if I don't like you.

I worry sometimes about losing my mind. I imagine what it would be like. I think I would just sleep all the time, and draw pictures of the things I saw. This is also how I picture myself in prison. Sleeping & drawing my life away.

Imagining things like this doesn't make me sad. Lately I've begun to worry that I'm a bore. I worry about this not because I fear being boring, but because I'm wasting my days. Life has so many secrets and wonders.

I feel quiet and in wait. Like a floating pale girl wrapped in pastel blues. Just waiting. Waiting...for life to begin? To wake up. And draw.